


Destroying us

by KendraPendragon



Series: My tumblr writing [44]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Desperate Sex, F/M, Hurt, Life-Affirming Sex, Rough Sex, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: They thought they would die. Now they sit in the bathroom of a hotel, Molly patching him up. Things get out of control.





	Destroying us

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Dub-con! Rough sex! Please don't read if it's not your thing!

“Sorry”, Molly mumbles for the fourth time. Her hands are shaking. Tears are blurring her vision. Angry tears. She drives the needle through his skin more roughly than necessary. Sherlock hisses. Her nose crinkles.   
Finally, she thinks as she has closed the stab wound on his shoulder and bites off the black thread. She straightens, her spine cracks and she stretches before she tosses the needle. Next, she turns to the sink and washes her hands with soap. Once they’re clean, she continues to soap up her arms and face. Blood is sticking to it. Not her blood. The blood of the man who had been trying to choke her. Sherlock had stabbed him in the throat with a letter opener, the idiot. Could have pulled him off of her first, but noooo. It had been disgusting, the blood splashing on her face, so warm and thick. Ugh.   
Molly shivers and bends over the sink to wash arms and face. She’s only wearing a black bra, black skirt and tights. The sparkling silver top she had worn had been discarded as soon as the four of them stepped into the hotel room. The other two with them were John and Mary, of course.   
As it turns out, her best friend is an assassin.   
Fuck, what a day, Molly thinks, exhausted to the bone. She grabs the towel and dries herself off. She should shower, still feeling dirty, but she simply doesn’t have the energy. All she wants to do is go to bed and sleep for the next 48 hours.   
  
Still ignoring the man sitting on the edge of the tub, silently staring at her, Molly brushes her teeth and braids her hair, ignoring the blood in it. After all, the state she is in is all his damned fault. He had insisted she should come with him, making her think this was a date when instead he was on a fucking case which almost cost her life. Unbelievable.   
…No, not true. The unbelievable part of the evening has been the date. How could she be so naive, after all these years? Sherlock doesn’t want her. No matter what he said on the phone. That horrible phone call.   
She doesn’t want to think about it, anymore. Doesn’t want to think about him. She is fucking done. When her life means so little to him that he gambles with it like he had tonight, then he can go to hell. Jim is surely waiting for him impatiently. They truly deserve each other. 

Just when Molly reaches for the complimentary moisturizer, moans and the sound of squeaking bed springs are coming from the bedroom.   
For the love of-  
“Great. Just great.”  
Molly shakes her head as she spreads the cream on her face and angrily massages it in.   
Bloody Watsons. Can’t they have their life-affirming sex somewhere else? She just wants to sleep, for heaven’s sake. Is that too much to ask after almost getting killed?

…Or she should just go in. There are two beds. Molly is so tired she will probably fall asleep no matter how loud they are. She’s done it in uni, her dorm roomate often entertaining during the night. At one point, she just tuned her out. Surely she can do it again. And seriously, how long can John last after today’s events?

Taking a deep breath, Molly looks at her exhausted reflection for a second, working on the tuning out bit. Just as she wants to leave the bathroom, Sherlock decides he has enough of being ignored. He appears behind her in the mirror, barechested, left cheekbone cut open and swelling by several punches. Molly couldn’t look at it. It made her see him on the floor, a mountain of a man on top of him, having a tight grasp on his throat with one hand while punching him with the other. She can still hear the sounds it made. She still hears Sherlock grunt. He had tried to be silent, to not scare her more. Instead of overpowering the man he had endured punch after punch so the gorilla wouldn’t use her face as a punching ball, instead, like he had treathened. 

Bloody Sherlock Holmes. 

“What?” she snaps, looking into his eyes at last. It’s easier to do so through a mirror. Still, the look in his eyes take her breath away. Her throat clenches. A shiver runs down her spine. His eyes are still wild, a firestorm of blue and green.   
Molly’s bottom lip trembles.   
She can’t do this now. He wants comfort. He always comes to her for comfort. But no more. She is done. If he needs comfort he can go to John and Mary. They’re his best friends, after all. Not her. They’ll be done soon, if John’s grunts are any indication. 

She. Is. Done.    
  


His hand stops her when she wants to leave. Long fingers clasping her bare upper arm. 

Their eyes meet again. His expression is unreadable, even for her. 

Molly tries to shake off his hand. When he doesn’t let go, she starts to struggle in earnest, arms pulling and pushing, joined by her hips. She tries to push him away from her, but he traps her arms by wrapping his around her. He pins her to the sink with his hips. 

Molly gasps and looks into the mirror. 

He’s hard. He’s pressing his hard cock against her arse, staring at her with a blank expression, only his eyes giving away the desperate state he’s in. 

Molly struggles again. 

No. It will not happen like this. 

Not now. Not like this. 

She pushes as hard as she can. Her nails scratch his lower arms and hands. Tears are pricking in her eyes. She’s not strong enough. She knows that. 

“Sherlock.” It was supposed to be come out as a demand, a call to reason, but it comes out as a desperate whimper. 

He whirls her around. One second in which their eyes meet, then he bends down to grab her arse and lifts her onto the sink. A gasp escapes her throat as he pushes his hips between her leg and sends a bolt of lightning right into her fanny. 

Once again she pushes, her fingers clawing at his chest, scratching down his pectorals. 

“No! No! No. No…”

Sherlock is panting hard. His hot breath blows into her face as he presses his forehead against hers, looking down their bodies, hastily gathering up her skirt.   
Molly tries to close her legs, presses them against his thighs, tries to push him away, to stop his hands, anything. But he’s a mad man, a man consumed by fear. His skin is so hot, his body shaking, the heart underneath her hand beating frantically. 

He shoves her skirt up her hips, revealing her crotch. 

Molly protests again, pulls at his hands. Sherlock ignores her. 

He tears her tights roughly, then her thong.   
  
The heat of his crotch against her bare flesh. Molly shivers, gasps. Despite the thousand shades of how fucking wrong this is, her body answers his rough call. She is panting, as well, now, the blood in her veins a hot rush. 

She almost died tonight. 

She almost lost him tonight. 

This is all a fucking mess. 

It’s wrong. 

She doesn’t want him like this.

One desperate fuck in a hotel bathroom is not what she wants. 

She deserves more!

His long fingers curl around her shoulder, short nails digging into her flesh, holding her in place as the other hand darts down to open his belt and fly. 

“Stop it. No. No!”

But he doesn’t stop. 

  
Molly squeals and comes as he thrusts into her hard. Sherlock presses his body to hers, both arms wrapping around her. He grunts as he feels her climax, her walls sucking him in deep. 

He gives her deep. 

His thrusts are rough and deep. One hand buried in her hair he tilts her head back so she has to look him in the eyes as he fucks her for the first time; desperate, rough, merciless. 

Molly goes limp in his arms. Lets him take her. Lets him tear down this one last barrier between them. 

He is breaking her heart. 

As if he can see it, his thrusts become even more desperate. His arms sling around her shoulders, one hand cupping her cheek, a forlorn attempt at tenderness. 

Molly stares into his eyes, numb from pain. Not her body. Her body is loving this. She is slick and wet for him. She feels and hears it every time his cock slams into her. The pain is on the inside, in her chest. It feels like dying all over again, but in a different way. 

This will be the end of them, she thinks as his hips increase their speed and the cock inside her grows. 

They will not come back from this. 

He will hate himself for doing this as soon as his head is clear. 

He will never look her in the eyes again. 

He will leave.

And never come back. 

  
Sherlock shakes his head, grasping her harder. His thumb is stroking her cheekbone, his parted lips are moving, but no words comes out. Tears well up in his eyes. Then he comes. Pushes in all the way and ejaculates inside her, staring into her eyes, jaw clenched to the point of snapping. At the height of ecstasy he closes his eyes and lets out a high-pitched groan. 

Then he starts crying. 

Presses her against his chest and balls his eyes out. Buries his head in her shoulder to stifle his sobs. Her skin is wet with tears within seconds. His arms hold her so very tight. Molly’s bottom lip trembles. 

Sherlock

Another heartbreaking sob and Molly’s arms embrace him. 

He needs her. 

She will always be there. Always. Even if it kills her. Because she understands. Underneath all the strength lies such a frightened, fragile heart. So afraid. So alone. So in need of love. 

Her love. 

And she will always love him. 


End file.
